Elementary (34 page)

He started chanting and staggered, almost as if drunk, but she knew that was a fighting technique, and that it hid spirit possession.

She leaped lightly back and had to steady herself again against the balcony rail. She needed a way back inside the building, and then perhaps she could race down the stairs.

A voice said, “We're with you, miss.”

She stole a glance over her shoulder to see Mr. Burkill, with a pruning hook. He sounded nervous, but sure.

The Chinese man was in full fury, now, swaying and waving and whirling. She understood some of his incantation, calling for spirits to possess him.

Then she heard Lord Alderscroft's voice. “It is spirits you want? Then you shall have them, sir. Miss Walsingham, you must focus on the wooden dragon.”

Unsure what he meant, she cast her eyes about. There, at a roof joint above them, was a stub. At one time in the past, it had been a carved dragon. Each roof peak had had one. They were rumored to have been gold and sold off, but they'd been lacquered wood that rotted away.

Wood! But it was dead wood. She had no Talent over it. However . . . was that a hint of moss? A few vines?

She did focus on it, coaxing it, urging it to grow.

Trees were a product of Earth and Air, her parents' elements. This was dead wood, but there was plenty of air, and the decay under the moss was earth, and it was growing.

In a moment, the lump flowed and shifted, and she yelped in fear, but it resolved as a dragon's head with a twisting body and furled wings of moss and ivy—an Imperial dragon.

Her attacker staggered and shouted, and the wind rose to a howl.

Then Lord Alderscroft said, “Air, sir, against a winged dragon? But I am a Master of Fire.”

The dragon twisted and wove, blocking the space between the Chinese mage and them. Then it snorted a breath of sulfur, and followed that with a burning blast that singed Mei's hair.

The heat rolled over her, with the smell of scorched and dried wood and fumes, and the wind dropped to a hot breeze, then to nothing, and the dragon evaporated into dust, fragrant with the smell of damp moss.

The mage had disappeared.

Mr. Burkill said, “His goose is cooked.”

Before Mei could make sense of the horrible joke, he continued. “So, this is what you do for entertainment, sir and miss, playing with spirits?” He sagged back against the wall and breathed deeply.

“I've partaken of spirits ever since you and I read together at Cambridge,” Lord Alderscroft said. “But we should get Miss Walsingham to the ground for some tea.”

Yes. She found herself shaking in reaction and fear. But she felt a rush of relief under it.

 • • • 

The peonies weren't precisely “featured” at the Coronation, but as the Royal Carriage rolled past, Mei could see a plant inside. It was one of her peonies, contrasting against all the pageantry with its brilliant white. Here and there, men wore other peonies as boutonnieres, as did some ladies in their corsages. There were enough scattered about to dissuade any interference. The beds at the Gardens were in full bloom, and that much energy should shield the whole city for now.

There wasn't much to see of the parade. Her main reason to be present was to see her flowers, both from pride and duty.

Lord Alderscroft and some other ranking personages had explained the nature of Elemental Magic to the King, and advised him on several defenses, including the peonies. Her work was to continue.

Back at the Gardens, Mr. Burkill was congratulatory in his own calm way.

“The flowers look spectacular, miss,” he said. “You have done well, even better than I'd have thought possible.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said. “I wish there were more I could do. People are starting to grow more peonies in their gardens, and I hope it will be enough.”

“I hope so, too,” he said. “There has been some more work in that direction, though.”

“Oh?” she asked.

Mr. Burkill said, “His Majesty reviewed the events and has asked that I take a post at the Botanical Gardens in Singapore in a year or so. That will give us a broader knowledge of your Oriental flowers and their strange powers.”

“In a year or so?” she asked.

“Well, miss, first I have to learn what I can here, if you don't mind sharing your knowledge. And while ladies can't be awarded degrees, a study of natural science at Girton College in Cambridge seems like a fair exchange.”

“And perhaps my mother's peony could be brought back to China.” It would be fitting, she thought, ending her mother's exile in a way. The next few years looked to be very full.

She had challenges ahead—and looked forward to them.

Mercedes Lackey

Mutti
and
Vati
were talking again. It wasn't quite arguing, and Rosa pretended that she couldn't hear it. Children were not supposed to hear when grown-ups were talking about them.

It wasn't exactly about her, anyway. It was about the fact that they were living in a cottage in the little village of Holzdorf in the Schwarzwald instead of in Wuppertal, as
Mutti
wanted. The reason, of course, was Rosa. Living in the city had nearly killed her; she had felt poisoned all the time and was sick all the time, and it hadn't been until
Onkel
Hans and
Tante
Bertha had come to the house and told them about the magic that
Mutti
and
Vati
had understood that being in a city was just not going to be possible for Rosa until she was much older, at the very least. Maybe not ever.

Mutti
and
Vati
had only a little of the magic, so at least they knew it was real, and
Vati
hadn't sent his brother and sister-in-law away with taunts of madness. But Earth Magic had never been in their families before; it had been two unbroken lines of Fire Mages until Rosa was born. A Fire Mage had no problem with living in a city. Some even found it pleasant.

But for an Earth Mage, well . . . no wonder Rosa had always been sick and felt as if she was being poisoned. She
was
being poisoned. All of the industries spewing filth into the air, the soil and the water, all of the smokes and the soot, all of the nastiness caused by too many people living too closely together—all that made the Earth sick, and that made
her
sick. So living in Wuppertal was no longer an option, unless they wanted to send Rosa away alone—and that plan had made
Mutti
even more unhappy than the prospect of leaving the city.

“It's so
lonely
here,”
Mutti
said plaintively.

Rosa knew what
Vati
was thinking, that it would be less lonely if
Mutti
just tried a little harder to fit herself into village life. Her city clothing alone set her apart, and it wasn't as if
Tante
Bertha hadn't supplied her with the right costume and more than enough fabric to make more. Rosa thought the black skirt and black laced jacket with the beautifully embroidered blouse and apron and shawl looked wonderful on
Mutti
, but her mother would not part with her stiffly corseted, voluminous, and highly impractical gowns.

And it wasn't as if the women of the village would not have welcomed her! They felt sorry for the
“
junge Frau”
who always looked so shy and sad. They were eager to share recipes and needlework patterns and gossip. They were always happy to see Rosa, and if she hadn't by nature had a modest appetite, she would have been as round as a Christmas goose from all the good things they tried to coax her to eat. Everyone here knew
of
magic, even if they didn't have any themselves, and they sympathized with the city folk who had exiled themselves here in order that their daughter might thrive and learn.

“
Liebchen
, you must try harder,” said her
Vati
wearily.
He
had fitted himself right into the life of the village almost as soon as they'd arrived. Now, in his black suit, the long coat with red lapels and brass buttons, and his little round black hat, he could not have been told from one of the locals until he opened his mouth. The village had lacked a proper schoolmaster; the local priest, a very old man, had served double duty in that regard for decades, and he was more than happy to give over the position to
Vati
.

And oh, yes . . . religion. That was another thing that made
Mutti
unhappy. The village was Catholic, mostly, and she was staunch Lutheran. Not that such a designation made any difference to the village. How could it, when there were Elemental Masters in their forest? Even the priest, gentle old man that he was, would have happily served Holy Communion to
Mutti
as he did to
Vati
, without so much as a hint that she should convert, even though his bishop would probably have died of a fit if he found out. “We are all Children of the Good God,” he would say. “The bad days that Master Luther railed about are over. We should accept one another in God's Peace and make no fuss about names and credos.”

Well, Rosa had faith in her father. Eventually he would wear
Mutti
down, as he always did. One day she would put on the pretty black dress and hat bedecked with fat pom-poms and go to visit the neighbors. One day she would meet the gentle priest and discover he was not a baby-eating ogre.

“Rosa!”
Mutti
called from the kitchen. “It's time to visit
Großmutter
Helga!”

That was what Rosa had been waiting—a bit impatiently—for. “
Großmutter”
Helga was not really her grandmother. Both of her
real
grandmothers had lived back in the city.
Großmutter
Helga was a very learned and very powerful Earth Master who was teaching Rosa her magic, because one day Rosa was expected to be just as learned and powerful—although no one knew yet what direction her magic might take.

Rosa was never happier than when she was sitting beside the old woman, listening so hard her face would ache afterward. And sometimes—sometimes she was allowed to do a very little magic herself. Or try. Sometimes it didn't work. She didn't seem to be very good at coaxing things to grow, or at healing.
Großmutter
said that this was all right, that not every Earth Master was adept at nurturing.

And when Rosa was tired,
Großmutter
would make her tea and give her a little meal and tell her stories. Many of the stories were about the
Bruderschaft der Förster
, the Brotherhood of the Foresters, the arcane guardians of the Schwarzwald, for there were many dark and dangerous things that lived here, and the paths through th
e
shadowy trees could be perilous. Listening to those tales, Rosa was very glad that the Brotherhood was there.

As she entered the warm and fragrant kitchen,
Vati
ruffled her hair and left for the schoolhouse by the kitchen door. The kitchen—indeed, t
he entire cottage—was the one thing
Mutti
did like about their new life. Living space in the city was cramped, and Rosa remembered
Vati
always complaining about how expensive it was. Here, thanks to
Vati
's schoolmaster job, the spacious cottage cost
them nothing. It had
three rooms below, and the loft where Rosa slept above. The kitchen had a red-tiled floor, a spacious hearth with an oven built into it for baking, a sink, cupboards that held all manner of good things, a sturdy wooden table in the c
enter
, and real glass windows—it was ever so much nicer than the tiny little kitchen in their city flat. They had a real parlor and a bedroom for
Mutti
and
Vati
as well, whereas in the city flat they'd had to hide their bed behind a curtain, and Rosa had s
lept in a cupboard-
bed.

“I have your basket for
Großmutter
,” said
Mutti
, folding the top of the napkin that lined the basket over the contents. “Some lovely apple cakes, a nice pat of butter, and that soft cheese she likes so much.”
Mutti
always sent Rosa with a basket to
Großmutter
, as if she needed someone else to do her cooking for her, although Rosa knew very well that
Großmutter
was as good a cook—or better—than
Mutti
. But she was too polite to say anything, and
Großmutter
always accepted the contents of the basket with grave thanks, so Rosa supposed that this was one of the many things children were supposed to be silent about.

Then
Mutti
tied Rosa's pride and joy about her neck—a beautiful, bright red cape with a matching hood. Rosa always felt like a princess in this cape, which was a miniature copy of the riding capes that fine ladies wore to go hunting in.
Mutti
had copied it from an illustrated magazine that
Vati
had had brought from the city for her.

“Now go and take your lessons with
Großmutter
, and don't dawdle on the way,”
Mutti
cautioned.

“I won't,
Mutti
,” Rosa promised.

“And don't speak to strangers.”

“I won't,
Mutti
,” she promised again, although she could not imagine what strangers she could possibly meet on the path to
Großmutter
's cottage. But
Mutti
had said that back in the city every time Rosa went out to play on the doorstep, so she supposed it must be habit from that time.

“And if you are kept too late, you may stay with
Groß
mutter
,”
Mutti
concluded, albeit reluctantly. “I don't want you wandering in the forest at sundown. There are wolves. And bears.”

Rosa stifled a sigh. Of course there were wolves and bears. Everyone knew that. That was why there was a wolf or a bear on practically every piece of Schwarzwald carving. And stags, but her mother never warned her to beware of stags, even though
Großmutter
had told her that they could be just as dangerous as a bear. “Yes,
Mutti
,” she said dutifully.

“Now off you go.”

Finally
, Rosa was free to scamper out the door, through the vegetable garden that was
Vati
's pride, and out the gate to the path that led to
Großmutter
's house.

The first part of her journey was out of the village and through all the village fields. She always ran through this part; the farm fields and small pastures held very little interest for her. The land had been tamed, controlled, and confined. Everything was neat, everything was regimented. She always felt a little stifled when in the village or its farmlands. It was
nothing
like as bad as it had been when she'd lived in a city, but . . . well, it was akin to being forced to wear your Sunday best all the time. You couldn't really be yourself. The land wasn't itself.

She was always glad when she got out of the farmlands and into the water meadow. While the meadow and its pond weren't exactly wild, not like the forest, they were still much freer than the farmed land. Nothing grew in the meadow or in the pond that was deliberately planted. The village ducks and geese grazed here, and the village goats, but that was about the extent of the hand of man. Rosa slowed to a fast walk as soon as the path crossed the boundary of the meadow.

Here was where she finally saw the first of the Elementals—other than brownies—that lived around the village. The village was
full
of brownies, of course, even if no one but Rosa and her parents were aware of them. It was a wholesome, earthy place, and brownies were the Elementals not only of Earth, but of hearth and home. Virtually every household in the village had at least one brownie seeing to it that all was well in the house, and that any accidents were small ones. Rosa's household had three, because of her magic.

But here in the water meadow was where she started to see the wild ones. There was a little faun that she thought lived here. Not like the ones in the woods, who were older, somehow more goatlike, and were always looking at her slyly out of their strange eyes. This was a very little fellow, shy, and often found napping in the sun. There was a tree-girl here as well, though she held herself aloof from the faun. There were entire swarms of the sorts of little creatures that were in picture books, little grotesques with fat bodies and spindly legs, or made with parts of ordinary animals, birds, and insects. She didn't have names for them, and neither did
Großmutter
, who just called them “
alvar
.” No matter how odd they looked, they were playful and friendly, and Rosa wished she had lived here when she was younger, because she could have run down here to play with them.

She was not free to do so today, though, so she waved at the ones she saw and plunged into the forest. “Plunged” was the right word; the Schwarzwald was a very old forest, and once you got onto the paths within it, you found yourself in a dark and mysterious place. Tree trunks towered all around, like pillars holding up a green ceiling high, high above. Here and there shafts of sunlight pierced the gloom. The forest floor was thick with old leaves and needles, soft with moss, rippling with roots. And normally, it felt welcoming to Rosa. But today . . .

Well, today the forest felt . . . uneasy. Not so much near the village, but the deeper she got into it, the more it felt as if the forest were holding its breath, and that many of the animals and creatures that dwelled here were hiding from . . . something.

Rosa had had that same feeling in here before, now and again. Nothing had ever come of it, but when she asked
Großmutter
about it, the elder Magician had pulled a long face. “There are dark tales in the forest,” she had said. “And most of them are true. Hurry your steps, and do not tarry when the trees hold their breath and the fauns hide in their caves. And never go there after dark until you are older and
much
more powerful.” That seemed like good advice to Rosa . . . and she was heeding it now. Instead of sauntering along her way, stopping to look at something interesting or to collect bird feathers and the mushrooms
Großmutter
had taught her were safe, she sped up, gathering her little cloak about her, for suddenly the shadows beneath the trees seemed cold.

She was halfway to
Gro
ßmutter
's cottage when she rounded a twist in the path and was stopped dead in her tracks by the sight of a man she did not know ahead of her.

Now, the forest was very famous. And her village was well known for wood carving. Strangers were known to trek through the forest for pleasure, especially in the summer, although this was the first time that Rosa had encountered a man she didn't recognize inside the forest and not in the village.